A Different Messenger
by SophrionaSphinx
Summary: I love "Harry is rescued from the Dursleys" stories but never found one that was quite right. So I had to write one myself.
1. Chapter 1

He apparated onto the windswept island in the teeth of a howling gale, his city boots slipping on the seaweed strewn rocks. As he peered into the driving rain he cursed Albus-bloody-Dumbledore, that over grown oaf Hagrid and most of all, and with the greatest venom, that thrice accursed Potter brat. What the seven hells did the old fool think would happen if the brat didn't get the letter until after his eleventh birthday? The End of Life As We Know It? The Return of the Dark Lord? The Boy Who Lived's Precious Feelings might get hurt?

The moon came out from behind a cloud, revealing the appalling little shack on the cliff top and he stumped towards it, his temperature rising with every icy blast of spray. When he finally arrived, he didn't bother knocking. He had no intention whatsoever of waiting outside until someone deigned to let him in. Wand in hand and a dozen suitably hexes brought to mind, he simple entered.

Less than half an hour later, he disapparated leaving behind him a mute Vernon Dursley, a hysterical Petunia Dursley and a Dudley Dursley now sporting a particularly prominent snout. He reappeared in the Leaky Cauldron with a small, shabby boy held firmly by the hand.

"Wow! So it's all real?"

"If by that incoherent exclamation you meant that magic is real, yes." Snape peered down at the child at his side before calling. "Tom! Tom! Ah, there you are. I need a room for myself and the boy and breakfast in the morning." The landlord came out from behind the counter, wiping his hands on a cloth - Snape had never seen him without it - and snatched a key from a board behind the bar.

"Number 5, "he grunted, hitching his head towards the stairs. Snape strode off, not turning to see that his charge followed but aware of the pattering feet which eventually caught up with him. Number 5 was obviously a family room, with a large four-poster and a smaller bed under the window.

"You will sleep there, Potter," he said, pointing. "You will stay in bed until I awake in the morning and you will not under any circumstances leave the room. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir." The boy made no move towards the bed. "Erm... what about, you know. The loo and things."

A door in one wall flew open to reveal elderly but clean facilities. "You will wash your face and hands, clean your teeth and use the lavatory. If you need to go again in the night, you may." The boy scurried past him and the door shut, judging by the noises his charge was obeying instructions - at least he had the brat sufficiently overawed for the time being. He sank onto the bed, wondering how on earth he had ended up here. Just because the giant's dog was supposedly "poorly" he had refused to leave his hut, and both Dumbledore and McGonagall claimed to be too old for rigours of the island. And who did that leave? Muggins, that's who. Now he was stuck with the boy until they had bought his school supplies. Which reminded him - he pulled a pillowcase from the bed and transfigured it into a nightshirt for the boy. There was no point in making those ghastly clothes look worse by sleeping in them; he had never understood what passed for fashion amongst muggles and they only seemed to get uglier year by year.

The boy scurried out, his face shining and his hair standing on end. "There is a nightshirt for you on the bed. You will get changed while I am in the bathroom. I do not want to hear a peep from you until morning." He saw Potter eyeing the nightshirt dubiously, but he obviously decided against complaining and started to unlace his shoes.

Inside the bathroom, Snape stared at his reflection in the mirror, wondering not for the first time why all bathroom mirrors, muggle and magic, made one look like death imperfectly reanimated. As he brushed his teeth and used the facilities, he thought longingly of his rooms back at Hogwarts, the thick fluffy towels, his own self-pasteing toothbrush. He stopped, the other toothbrush was unused, and he had distinctly told the boy to clean his teeth. Well, there was no way he was going to allow the boy to start by disobeying him at this early stage in their acquaintance. Better nip this in the bud right away.

He re-entered the bedroom and strode over to the smaller bed. The room was dim, but as he bent over the bed, he smelt the unmistakeably minty smell of Tunstall's Tooth Talc, and there, on the index finger of the hand which lay on top of the covers, was a faint smear of paste. What on earth was the boy playing at? He heard the soft, sleep-breathing and decided to wait until morning to find out.

He straightened up and went to his own bed, taking a nightshirt from one pocket, he returned it to its proper size and prepared to sleep. Somewhat to his surprise, it took less than a minute.

He woke next morning and lay very still, listening for sounds from the other bed. After a few seconds, he was grudgingly forced to admit that there were none. When he opened his eyes, he found the Potter boy, fully dressed save for his shoes, sitting cross-legged on the bed watching him. He grunted and stumbled into the bathroom. He was never very good-humoured first thing in the morning and the sight of that hopeful little face - that face - starting at him did nothing to improve his mood.

Breakfast started oddly and got odder. The brat stared at the food as though he had never seen porridge, toast and milk before. A pair of tentative green eyes slid in his direction and it wasn't until he started to eat himself, that the boy picked up a spoon and dug in. Then, as he read The Daily Prophet, the boy took out his letter and reread it.

It was obvious that the boy had missed the second sheet, because reading it appeared to upset him.

"What on earth is the matter, Potter?

"Um.. All these things - I haven't got any money. I can't pay for them and Uncle Vernon won't. "

"Surely you have learned not to believe a word those muggles told you. You have money. We will fetch some from the bank this morning."

The boy considered this. "Will there be enough for other things than the list?"

Typical! "I will not stand by while you waste your inheritance, young man. You will not throw your money away on toys nor rot your teeth with sweets."

"No, no." The boy dared to protest. "I only meant for pants and socks and... and.. pyjamas and things. I haven't got any that didn't used to belong to Dudley." He looked down in embarrassment. "I don't want the others to laugh at me there too."

Snape sat back in his chair and contemplated the child before him. While the muggles were definitely an unsympathetic bunch, he had not thought of them as actively neglectful. Or was it worse than that?

"Potter?" The boy looked up from the bowl of porridge he was examining as though it were the most fascinating object in the room. "Are all your clothes cast-offs of your cousin?"

The boy nodded uncomfortably. "I don't mind, usually," he said. "I know I'm a burden they didn't want, but it would be nice to have some things that fit. Um...." He looked up, his eyes huge and guileless behind his broken glasses. "If there's only money for one thing, can it be shoes? I've got toilet paper in the toes of these to keep them on."

A wave of rage swept over Snape and he seized hold of it with all his might, anything to avoid the underlying pang of compassion. He jumped to his feet. "Have you finished that?"

No fool, the boy dropped his spoon and got up. "Yes, sir."

"Then follow me!" They swept out of The Leaky Cauldron at high speed. _Madame Folds' Family Outfitters_ was their first stop. A startled shop assistant ran to serve them. "This young man," said Snape in a don't-argue-with-me-just-get-on-with-it sort of voice. "Has lost all his clothes in a muggle house fire. He needs 7 pairs woollen school socks, grey. 4 pairs woollen socks, casual. 7 pairs of boxers, 7 winter vests, two pairs of pyjamas, one dressing gown, two pairs of casual trousers,(one of them can be muggle-style jeans), 5 white school shirts, 3 woollen school jumpers, a scarf, gloves, 3 casual long-sleeved shirts, 4 casual short sleeved shirts and two casual jumpers . Please have a selection of the casual wear ready for our inspection when we return. "

Harry watched in delight as a quill pen, hovering in mid-air apparently took notes of all this without anyone holding it, then had to race after the professor as he swept out of the shop and into one next door.

This was a shoe shop and within minutes Harry had been provided with one pair school shoes, one pair really rather nice trainers, one pair slippers (a bit old-fashioned-looking but warm) and one pair Wellington boots, all enchanted to grow with his feet until the same time next year.

"Have I really got enough money to pay for all this?" Harry panted as they left the shoe shops and, so far as he was concerned, sprinted into another. _Madam Malkin, Magical Outfitters. _

"Don't be ridiculous, children do not pay for their own necessities. I am paying for these." He cut right across Harry's astonished thanks. "Ah, Madam Malkin, a complete set of robes etc. for Hogwarts, please. We need to pick them up by the end of the afternoon."

"That won't be a problem, sir," said the motherly lady in the shop, who simply picked Harry off his feet and set him on a stool to be measured, although why they needed to know some of the measurements he could not imagine. What did they need to know the diameter of his knee caps for?

Then back into the first shop where Harry was confronted with a bewildering array of casual clothes. He knew he did not like black shirts or jumpers, or the yellow ones come to that, but other than that he had no idea. Some of these didn't even look like the clothes he was used to. One T-shirt had a dragon that moved on the front! And though it looked wicked, it was probably too expensive.

He was conscious of the professor at his side, tapping his feet and looking impatient and eventually he had to ask. "I don't know what to have. I've never chosen my own clothes before." He flinched, expecting sarcasm at the least and a clip round the ear at worst. It was all right though, because the professor looked at first annoyed and then took a deep breath and, together with the shop-lady, Harry and he sorted through the clothes until he had a set that satisfied them both.

For the first time in his life, Harry knew he wouldn't be the one in the class who looked like a right dork. Even the pjs were nice - warm flannel in blue and white stripes, like the ones they had in the Famous Five books he'd devoured at school. He didn't even mind when the professor made him take off Dudley's old trainers and put on a new pair of socks and his new trainers, right there in the shop where every one could see the holes in Dudley's old socks. It was worth it, just for the way he could wiggle his toes _and _he'd be able to run like the wind. He looked up to see the shop-lady taking the old shoes and socks away at arm's length. "Miss! Miss! Please can I have those back?"

Snape and the lady both looked at him in astonishment. "If I have to go back to the Dursley's tonight, I can't wear the new ones or they'll take them off me."

Snape's face grew thunderous and Harry couldn't help taking a step backwards. He reckoned he was probably safe in a public place but even so.....

"They will do no such thing, not if they want their ears to stay attached to their heads. Don't worry, Po-- Harry. I shall be coming with you when you go home, I shall have words to say to the Dursleys."

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

The boy looked up at him, white-faced. "Please don't," he said eventually. "It will only make things worse when you leave." Snape bent down to look into his face. "Mrs Whitehead came from school to tell them about Dudley bullying me in the playground. As soon as she left, Uncle Vernon put me in my cupboard and I was there all weekend." He looked up. "You don't know what they're like."

"Perhaps not, but I intend to find out." Potter did not look at all comforted by this pronouncement, but he followed obediently into Gringotts and down to the vault. Like all children, he had a short attention span and soon forgot about the future in enjoyment of the present. The goblins fascinated him and the ride in the cart brought some much needed colour to his cheeks. Gradually, he began to ask questions. The sensible ones Snape answered, the foolish ones he ignored and soon had the little ragamuffin trained into asking only intelligent questions and digesting the answers before asking more.

He went very quiet, however, when he saw the contents of his family vault. "Is all this mine?" he breathed?

"Yes."

"How much is it? In er... muggle money, I mean?"

"I have no idea. It will be enough to pay your expenses through school and support you until you can earn a reasonable salary." No point in telling the boy how just how wealthy he really was. He handed Potter a small money bag. "Fill this with equal proportions of gold, silver and bronze, please. And hurry up, we don't have all day." He knew for a fact that the Malfoys were due in Diagon Alley in the afternoon and he was anxious to avoid a meeting. At least until after he had decided what he was going to do.

He had arrived on the island fully prepared for a younger version of James: arrogant, pampered and self-assured. Instead he had found Harry: polite, neglected and pathetically grateful for all and any kindnesses. Which was not only interesting but potentially very useful. Snape was a long way from being naive, he knew he was barely tolerated at Hogwarts, his status as a former Death Eater only just excused by the espionage that only Dumbledore had witnessed, and which many people suspected had never taken place at all. Too many witches and wizards thought Dumbledore was protecting a former pupil and useful member of staff, rather than giving evidence on behalf of an innocent man. If, on the other hand, he could somehow enlist the Boy-Who-Lived to his cause, the many who had turned their backs would flock to ingratiate themselves with both of them.

He glanced over at the tattered little figure, scrabbling around in the foothills of the mountain of coins and thought fast. He would have to be careful, his character as the evil-tempered potions master was well known and it would never do to suddenly become the doting uncle figure - even if he thought he could carry it off in the long term. No, what he needed was something more subtle. He needed to make the boy rely on him without suddenly displaying a whole raft of traits no one had ever seen before and would not now believe. A certain amount of kindness in private would do, combined with firm but scrupulously fair guidance in public. He was after all a childhood friend of the boy's mother, which would explain a certain slight partiality, especially once people saw those eyes.

Potter - no, better get used to calling him Harry - came trotting over with the full money bag and they left the vault and climbed into one of the carts. "Now, Harry, while I am more than happy to pay for your clothes, your parents left you ample funds for your other supplies, so get out the list and we'll make a start on the rest." Was that too smarmy? Damn this was difficult to get right. Well, at least he could get a certain amount of practice in before he met anyone he knew.

The boy, at least, did not seem to notice anything. He got out the list and read out the remaining items and together they swept in and out of Flourish and Blotts and the Apothecary's. Remembering his own bemusement during his first visit to Diagonal Alley, Snape did his best to explain what they were buying and why. As they bought his telescope at the instrument makers, he thought to ask about P... Harry's glasses.

"Oh, it's all right, we all got tested at school last year. Aunt Petunia was really cross because they said she had to get me glasses or they'd call Social Services on her. She got the cheapest ones but I don't mind that."

"Nevertheless, I think we had better get your eyes tested." Thirty minutes later, they left the oculists with a pair of spectacles which looked no different to his old pair, but which most certainly were, minutely adjusted to his current vision and charmed to adjust as he grew. The boy still scampered after him, looking up and down and about, obviously enjoying an improvement in sight. Snape had been brought up amongst muggles, he knew damn well there was no reason why muggle glasses would not have sufficed. Petunia had just neglected to take him to have his prescription checked. "Another fifty points from the Dursleys," he thought sourly.

Eventually, they stopped outside the final shop. "And last of all your wand," said Snape. "Then we'll go and have some lunch, there are things you ought to know before we go any further."

Olivander was as tiresome as ever. Why he had to make every transaction into a performance, Snape did not know, but he managed to choke him off before he spilled too many beans to the boy. The bit about the wand was a nasty shock though, he'd have to remember to tell Dumbledore about that. The trouble was, no one really knew what had happened that night and what effect the whole thing would have on the boy. Something like this wand business might be deeply significant or mean nothing at all.

They went up to their room in The Leaky Cauldron and found all their purchases laid on one of the beds. Harry could not believe his eyes. So many beautiful and interesting things, and they were all his! There was a new trunk, with his name on it, at the foot of the bed, and he busied himself packing everything into it. As he carefully folded his new clothes, he could not help rubbing his cheek against some of the things, they were all so soft and new.

"Keep out a set of casual clothes," said Snape. "You had better change before we go and eat."

After a few minutes agonised decision, Harry chose his new jeans, a white shirt and a green sweater. Professor Snape looked like the sort of man who liked you to look smart when he took you out. He popped into the bathroom to wash his hands and face - Aunt Petunia was always very particular about that where he was concerned, even if Dudley was allowed to eat black-bright - and presented himself for inspection.

"Which reminds me, why did you not use the toothbrush last night?"

Harry looked up and then down. "I'm not usually allowed new ones," he said in embarrassment and a sudden horrible thought occurred to Snape.

"Don't tell me you get cast-off toothbrushes too?" he roared. Harry took a step back and Snape reined himself in hurriedly. He would have to be careful with his temper, at least for the time being.

"I always pour boiling water over them," whispered Harry. "Because of the germs and stuff."

"That is not the point, the bristles need to be strong to do the job properly. Well, never mind, we'll take care of that after lunch. Now, The Leaky Cauldron does a good breakfast, but the rest of its food is hardly special enough for a birthday meal, so I intend to take you to a meal in muggle London. I won't ask you to hold my hand." Harry's lip curled. "But you must stick close to me, I do not want to lose you out there."

Harry nodded. "I promise," he said and they left the inn. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Narcissa Malfoy step out of the public floo and hurried the boy out of the door into the street before they were spotted.

Snape was rather proud of his ability to pass as a muggle, although he soon realised that the boy took his skills for granted. He hailed a cab and they were set down outside a restaurant he knew, where the food was good and he could be assured of a certain amount of privacy. He secured a table in a quiet corner and accepted two menus from the motherly-looking waitress.

Harry looked at his with noticeable awe. "Can I have anything?" he asked eventually.

"I wouldn't recommend asking for the lobster or anything cooked in alcohol, but, yes."

"Wow!" He studied the menu for several minutes, obviously this was a new experience, since he kept turning the pages and being distracted by the wine list and the desserts. Eventually, he decided. "Can I have the lasagne?"

"Yes, if you have a small salad to go with it."

"Really? Oooh yes please."

Snape gave their orders and watched while the boy sat looking round, drinking in the room and everything in it. "Haven't you been to a restaurant before?"

"No. The Dursleys always leave me with Mrs Figg when they go anywhere nice." He was quite matter of fact about it.

Snape accepted his glass of lager and nodded to Harry that he could have some of the orange juice which had just arrived with it. The boy seemed startlingly unresentful. So he asked his favourite question, the one which could be relied on to unleash the hidden self-pity of most children. "That hardly seems fair."

Harry looked at him, surprised. "I don't think things are fair, do you?" he said. Snape felt his lip begin to curl, he might have known. Then Harry continued. "I don't think things are unfair either. I just mean, " he sighed. "Things aren't fair or unfair - they just are."

Well, that was a surprise. "Very philosophical, Harry." The boy looked at him and Lily's eyes shone out, perplexed. Despite himself, he was both amused and touched. "That's a compliment, you silly boy. Boys your age don't usual work that out for themselves." Their meals arrived and, for a few minutes, Harry just sat and looked at his. "Well, come one, it's for eating not looking at."

The way the boy dug into his meal made Snape uneasy. "Harry," he said after a few minutes. "Do the Dursleys feed you properly?"

Harry swallowed an enormous mouthful and took a gulp of juice and Snape could see him considering his reply. "They don't starve me, if that's what you mean. It's just." He gestured at the lasagne and the salad in its neat little bowl. "They never give me the nice stuff. It's always the burned bits and the left over vegetables, when they've gone all soggy." He looked up and Snape could see his eyes were shining. "This is the best meal I've ever had." Snape smiled to himself. This was all going beautifully.


	3. Chapter 3

"I've only ever had lasagne at school. Mrs Whitehead saw Dudley throw my packed lunch in a puddle. We didn't have this salad stuff with it though. What's the shiny liquid on it? It's really nice."

"That's salad dressing. A mixture of olive oil, vinegar and seasonings of the cook's choice."

"Cool." Snape watched while the boy ate. Now the first paroxysm of feeding was over, Harry seemed to be taking time to savour the food. No doubt, he though sourly, saving up the memory. He waited until the boy had finished and been furnished with his dessert, an enormous ice cream confection which came, for some reason which entirely escaped Snape, complete with a sparkler in the top. Whatever the reason, Harry was delighted and, now his first shyness had worn off, was voluble in his thanks to Snape and the waitress.

This last in particular pleased Snape. He had seen Draco Mafoy and his friends in a restaurant once, impeccable manners between themselves, and high-handed rudeness to the waiting staff. Lucius was no fool, strange that he did not seem to realise how many enemies he made by that sort of arrogance. People who might have been persuaded to help him, alienated by absolute disregard for their feelings and concerns. Of course, those would be people he despised, but the truly politic plotter would have kept his feelings to himself and exploited the loyalty of the little people whilst laughing behind their backs. Ah well, by the time he (Snape) was finished with him, Draco would be even more arrogant that his father, even more convinced of his superiority and entitlement to all that was good, without effort or attempting to get along with those around him. A little flattery, a little unjustified favouritism and the boy would be utterly insupportable. Useless as a politician and worse as a plotter. Unable to hold his tongue because convinced of his own righteousness, and of the general uselessness of everyone else.

He sipped at his espresso - one thing Italian muggles knew how to do properly and waited for the boy to finish eating.

Eventually, he put down his cup, wadded his napkin on his plate and began, smothering a smile as he saw the boy copy him. "Now, Harry. There are things you need to know before you join the wizarding world." He case a discreet _muffliato _and watched as the boy shivered. So he'd noticed that - interesting that he should be so sensitive as his age. "You may find some of what I have to tell you a little upsetting, but please wait until I have finished to ask your questions. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded.

"Now, the things I need to tell you all started when I was about your age, when a great and evil wizard began a climb to power. He gathered followers, some people because they were afraid, some because they wanted to share in his power, some because they though as he did - that muggles were like cattle to be exploited, and that magic should be reserved for those families who had been magic for many generations. Any one who tried to stand against him was the target of his wrath, until after ten years or more of this, practically the only safe place in Britain was Hogwarts and the Headmaster the only wizard he was wary of.

Most people huddled in their homes, trying to hide from his notice. Some people were taken over by powerful enchantments and made to do his bidding against their wills. And some people tried to fight him. There were those who fought in secret, trying to undermine the Dark Lord from within." _Was that too subtle? Probably better not labour the point, they could always come back to it later._ "And there were those who fought him openly, hoping to rally others to their cause. Your parents were amongst them."

Harry was sitting on the edge of his chair, leaning forward, his eyes shining and Snape wondered if anyone had ever told him anything about his parents before.

"As his powers grew to their height, he found out where you and your parents were living and he went there and attacked them with powerful, evil spells. Your parents were killed outright, but something went wrong, at least as far as the Dark Lord was concerned. When he tried to use the same evil spell on you, it backfired, leaving you with that scar. " He pointed. "And the Dark Lord nowhere in sight. All the people who had been working for him under enchantment woke up and, from that day to this, no sign of him has ever been seen or heard. There are those who believe he is dead, but as no body was ever found, many more believe he is still out there somewhere, robbed of his powers and, no doubt, plotting to return. Because of that night, you are famous, Harry. They call you 'The Boy Who Lived' and many people are very, very grateful for what they think you did."

"But that's stupid," burst out Harry. "I was a baby. I can't have done anything - isn't it more likely that He did something wrong?" Snape could not help noticing that the boy looked positively alarmed at the thought of unearned celebrity - how unlike his dear father.

"Perhaps, however, the fact remains, that you are in some degree, famous, and must be ready for it. Since you were so young, you will probably not be much bothered by adults, but your schoolfellows might not be so discreet. You should also be aware that, while most witches and wizards are grateful; there are still some who are not. While most of the Dark Lord's followers are now in prison, their children may be at Hogwarts and may consider you their enemy. They cannot harm you at the school but they can try to make your life difficult."

_Now, this bit would be tricky. _"In particular, I want to put you on guard against a boy who will be starting at the same time as you. His name is Draco Malfoy. Can you remember that?" Harry nodded. "His father was probably a follower of the Dark Lord but managed to persuade the authorities he was acting under a spell. The fact that he is extremely wealthy would not have hurt in that regard. Draco cannot be trusted. He has been taught all his life that only those from old wizarding families are worth consideration. He would, for example, have despised your mother for having been born of muggles." _There that should do for the time being_. "I hope you will not tell anyone what I have said here. I shall probably be Draco's housemaster and I need him to trust me if I am to keep an eye on him. Now, you have listened very carefully, have you any questions?"

"Did you know my Mum and Dad? What were they like?"

_Oh Merlin!_ "In fact I knew your mother when we were both small, younger than you are now. Indeed, it was I who first told her she was a witch." Snape nerved himself to carry on. "She was a lovely person. She was pretty but she was also clever and kind. She could not abide unkindness or meanness without feeling that she had to do something about it. She was head girl at Hogwarts and a valiant fighter against evil. We all still miss her."

"And my Dad?"

For a moment, Snape was tempted to let his tongue have its way. _But no, this was too important. _"Your father and I did not get on at school. He and his friends were fond of practical jokes which I thought rather cruel. However, he grew up to be a brave man and he loved you dearly. He carried a photograph of you around in his wallet and anyone who stood still for more than 30 seconds was sure to be shown it."

Snape looked round for the waitress and signalled for more coffee, giving Harry time to wipe his eyes on his napkin. The boy would probably want more information about his parents but it would not do for him to go asking another teacher - Snape wanted his loyalty undivided. "If you want to know more about your father, try asking Hagrid - the school grounds keeper - they were friends." Hagrid was safe enough. "Though I ought to warn you, he does look a little alarming - he's half-giant - but he's completely harmless and wonderful with animals of all kinds. If you ask him nicely, he might take you to see the unicorns."

"Real unicorns? Wow!" Harry shivered. "This is all like a story. One minute, I'm living in my cupboard and the next a real live wizard comes and rescues me."

_YES!! _Snape, despite the swell of triumph, merely bowed his head and said, "My pleasure, Harry. And what's this about living in a cupboard?"

Harry looked down, obviously embarrassed. "My bedroom used to be the cupboard under the stairs - until my letters started coming. I didn't mind usually - honest. It was just a bit boring unless I'd managed to sneak a book in with me. At least they left me alone." Snape stored up that little matter for future action. "This has been the best birthday I can remember - all those great, new things we bought, all the interesting stuff you've told me. Will I see you again when I get to Hogwarts?"

"That depends. I would very much like to see you again, Harry," answered Snape. "But it might be difficult. I am housemaster of Slytherin House, and if you end up in my house, it would not do for me to show you any favouritism. However, if you end up in one of the other three houses, I would be able to see you quite often - as an old friend of your mother. There is a ceremony when you arrive at the school - you put on a magic hat, which looks into you and decides where you would best be placed. They say if you ask it, it will put you where you want to be - ask it not to put you in Slytherin." Harry nodded. "I will be one of your teachers, Harry. I teach potions. Do you know what potions are?"

"Er... like liquid magic?"

"Not a bad definition, although sometimes we make ointments, pastes and even gases - but essentially you are right. I am strict teacher, I cannot abide students who do not do their best and I do not play favourites. However, if you are in a different house and because I knew your mother, I would like to offer to be your mentor." Harry looked puzzled, so he explained. "Most people at the school have family they can rely on. Your family are obviously useless, so you need someone you can talk to. Someone to come to if you don't understand something about the wizarding world - someone who can suggest what to do if you don't understand your schoolwork."

Harry looked glum. "I bet I'm useless at magic. I don't know anything."

"There will be several other people from muggle families who will know as little as you, and even wizarding children are not encouraged to do magic until they come to Hogwarts. So I am sure you will be fine - if you are not, come and see me and we'll talk about it. If you are in a different house, come to tea on the Saturday afternoon after school starts. We can have a talk then." He waved his wand discreetly under the table. "There I've made a note in your school planner, just in case you forget."

"Thanks," said Harry, looking cheered.

"Now," said Snape. "Let's go see that family of yours."

tbc


	4. Chapter 4

Harry's face fell. "Do we have to? Can't I go straight to school - I won't be any trouble. I can earn my keep. I'm good at cleaning and gardening and stuff."

"I'm afraid not," said Snape. "The school is closed during the school holidays for cleaning and refurbishment." He looked down into the pale little face. "You're not frightened to go back, are you?"

"No-oo." Then, passionately. "It's just so embarrassing! Uncle Vernon will yell and Aunt Petunia will make tutting noises and tell you how awful I am and... and.. you'll see it all."

Snape almost flinched. He'd forgotten how much he had hated outsiders to see the mess of his own childhood. The hideous, writhing shame when teachers and other children saw how he lived - and at least his mother had, in her own, ineffectual way, tried to do her best with the ghastly situation they'd found themselves in. No one in Harry's life seemed to wish him well, or even attempt to hide their feelings for him. "I assure you," he said, as kindly as he could manage. "In ten years as a housemaster, I have seen just about every variety of horrible family you can imagine." The boy did not look at all comforted. "Not all magical families are kind to their children, and I have seen more than one boy or girl arrive covered in bruises. Your family are unpleasant I know but, at least they don't beat you. Do they?"

Harry shook his head reluctantly. "There's a lot of dragging and shoving and Dudley and his gang beat me up if they can catch me, but that's all."

"If it ever gets worse, you must promise to tell me, Harry."

The boy nodded, but Snape was not convinced. He knew only too well the battered child's tendency to keep the truth to themselves. "Harry, look at me." Harry's head came up and Snape dipped, briefly, lightly, into his memories. _The cupboard under the stairs, the boredom, the pushing around, the sheer lack of care let alone love. That porcine brat and his gang chasing after him. The sly kicks and pinches from his cousin, the lack of time and effort given to him. But no, nothing physical beyond the occasional pinched ear, and aching arms from too much housework too young. _He slipped out carefully and the boy did not seem to have noticed.

"And I promise no matter how disgustingly they behave this afternoon, I shall not be sharing the details with anyone."

"But..."

"No buts, I'm afraid. Now, do you need the lavatory before we leave?"

As Harry trailed disconsolately towards the Gents, Snape paid the bill and was ready to meet him when he came out. It was raining as they left the restaurant, so they ducked into a nearby branch of Marks and Spencers and bought Harry a summer jacket. This cheered the child slightly. "Dudley wanted a baseball jacket but they couldn't find one to fit him - he'll be really mad."

They entered The Leaky Cauldron quietly. Luckily there was no sign of the Malfoys so Snape led Harry upstairs to their room. Harry finished his packing, while Snape returned the pillowcase to its original form and shrunk his own nightshirt so it would fit in his pocket. Which gave him an idea.

"Harry? Would it help if I took your trunk to Hogwarts for you? I can have the name tags put in for you, if you'd like."

"Would you, Professor? Please. I was wondering where I was going to keep it."

"Very well. Why don't you take one or two books to look through over the holidays and I'll take care of the rest." He was, despite himself, half-touched and half-triumphant when one of Harry's choices was the Potions text book. "And this is for you." It was the T-shirt with the moving dragon on. "A birthday present - it won't move when muggles can see it."

Harry looked at him, eyes wide, and it occured to Snape that Harry was probably not used to presents. A suspicion verified by the boy's stuttering thanks.

Then it was time to leave. The bedroom fireplaces in the Leaky Cauldron were all on the floo network and he wondered briefly about how to explain it to Harry, but abandoned the idea in favour of simply lifting the boy off his feet. Startled, Harry wrapped arms and legs round him as he strode towards the empty fireplace. "Arabella Figg's," he said and moments later they were stepping out into the fussy, cat-infested living room of Harry's old babysitter.

"Wow, is Mrs Figg a witch too? Oh hello, Mrs Figg." Harry coughed a little as he was set on his feet and then shivered as the cleaning spell removed all the soot.

The old woman had reeled back in her chair and was clutching her chest. "Ooh Harry, you did give me a shock. Who's this?"

"Oh sorry, this is Professor Snape, he's a teacher at Hogwarts, he took me to get my things for school. Are you all right?"

"Excuse us," interrupted Snape. "We don't have a great deal of time." If nothing else, he had to get back to Gringotts before it closed. He grabbed Harry by the arm and dragged him out into the street.

"Is Mrs Figg a wiz... I mean a witch?" Harry was having to run to keep up.

"No, she's a squib. A non-magical person, born into a magical family."

"Poor lady."

They arrived at Privet Drive but there was no sign of a car and no answer at the door. Snape glanced round and caught sight of a scrawny bottle-blonde over the road, peering at them suspiciously. "You don't seem very popular with the neighbours."

Harry hunched his shoulders and contemplated his new trainers. "Aunt Petunia tells them all I'm disturbed and a trouble-maker. I get blamed for everything Dudley and his rotten gang do." He flinched as the gate over the road opened and Mrs Pardiggle's high-heels clip-clopped over to them."

"They're not in," she said in her silly affected voice.

"I am aware of that," replied Snape, repressively.

"Are you his probation officer? She always said he'd come to no good." The prospect of some really juicy gossip was obviously too great to ignore.

"No, I am not. I," said Snape, lying extravagantly. "Am a teacher at Harry's parents' old boarding school. I have come to tell them that Harry has just scored the highest mark ever recorded in the entrance examination and has been awarded a full scholarship."

"So he'll be going to Smeltings with his cousin?"

"Smeltings? Good heavens no." The sneer was unmistakeable. " Harry's new school is in Scotland and is attended by some of the best families in the land. I'm afraid .... Dudley, is it?... would not be considered at all suitable." There that ought to do it. He was almost certain he'd read about one of the muggle Queen's children going to school in Scotland. With any luck, it would be all round the neighbourhood in minutes that Harry was going to Gordonstoun and, best of all, Petunia could hardly deny it without a great deal of explanation she would be loathe to give. "Now, if you will excuse us." He swung round, tried the door handle which, thanks to a muttered _Alohamora, _ opened in his hand.

Harry was giggling beside him as they stepped into the sterile, empty house. "Would you care for a cup of tea?" he asked, obviously copying his aunt, since his voice went high and false.

"No thank you." Snape had no intention of consuming anything in this house. He led the way into the sitting-room, dominated by a huge television set and photographs of Dudley in varieing states of development. The windows were covered in net curtains, so he waved his wand and the pictures all turned to the wall. He took a seat on the hideous, uncomfortable sofa and took Harry's ticket from his pocket. He handed it over.

"Platform nine and three-quarters?"

"Just walk confidently at the barrier between platforms nine and ten and it will open to admit you. Muggles don't see anything but you might see other people going through."

Shortly after this, a car drew up outside and the blustering tones of Uncle Vernon, and Dudley's whine, were soon heard. The front door opened with a crash.

"Can't we empty the car tomorrow?" That was Dudley.

"Get back here, boy, and carry these bags." That was Uncle Vernon.

A high-pitched scream. That was Aunt Petunia entering the sitting-room. Uncle Vernon came barrelling in behind her.

"YOU!"

Snape was unimpressed. He got to his feet, waved his wand, and all three Dursleys found themselves sitting on the sofa - mute. Harry was relieved to see that Dudley was no longer sporting the snout Snape had given him the previous day.

"Now listen carefully," said Snape, sounding if anything a trifle bored. "On the morning of 1st September you will drive Harry to Kings Cross Station in time for an 1100 am train." Better leave room for malevolent carelessness. "He will be wearing the clothes he is wearing now, washed, pressed and undamaged." Better leave room for sheer malevolence. "Until then, you will feed him and leave him alone." He waved his wand in the direction of Dudley and muttered _transferodolormagnis. _"If you fail to do this, your failure will be visited upon your son. If you strike Harry, your son will feel the blow - greatly magnified, if you do not feed Harry, your son will be ravenous, if you feed him badly, your son will go down with scurvy, beri-beri and rickets, if you over-work Harry, your son will be aching and exhausted and if you insult him, your son will hear and take the words upon himself. If, on the other hand, you leave Harry alone - he will leave on the 1st of September and you will not see him again until the summer holidays. Do we have a deal?"

Uncle Vernon was purple-faced but a kick on the shins and an angry glare from Aunt Petunia eventually resulted in a reluctant nod.

"In that case, Harry, perhaps you will walk me to the station." He waved his hand and the Dursleys unfroze. Uncle Vernon opened his mouth but was hissed into silence.

"Oh and Harry, hold out your hand, would you?"

Harry held out his hand and Snape slapped it lightly. Harry heard the clap but felt nothing.

Dudley on the other hand yelled "OWWWW!" and bent over a bright-red and no doubt throbbing hand.

Snape turned in the doorway for a parting shot. "And buy the boy an entirely new toothbrush - unless of course you want all your son's teeth to fall out.

tbc


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Two

Every year he forgot just how loud the brats were, and every year the Welcoming Feast reminded him. He hid a wince as a gale of laughter gusted out from the Hufflepuff table, and took a healthy swallow of the wine, which was his annual indulgence/anaesthetic.

Quirrell was stuttering away beside him but luckily he knew better than to expect any answer. Snape glanced over at his new charges and sighed. What a pathetic lot they were. Where was the intelligent malice of Lucius Malfoy? The passion for power through knowledge of Regulus Black? Or even Bella's barking-mad enthusiasm?

Typically the Malfoy boy had picked out a couple of barely sentient louts as friends, and the ghastly Parkinson girl had obviously decided (or more likely been instructed by her family) to attach herself to him too. Well, that was all to the good, Draco would learn nothing from those three. The Nott boy was obviously paralysed with fright and as for the rest..... the Bulstrode girl apparently had the sense to keep her mouth shut until she had assessed the situation and the Zabini boy had a certain grace and poise - he'd have to keep an eye on the oldest Lestrange - his uncle Roderick had been what in a more innocent age had been called a cradle-snatcher and a less innocent age had known as a child molester. Judging by the expression on young Rupert's face, the apple hadn't fallen far from that unhealthy tree. But as for the rest...... Too stupid for Ravenclaw, too cowardly for Gryffindor and too disloyal for Hufflepuff just about summed them up.

How the mighty were fallen - he wondered idly if it was down to in-breeding, half of their parents had married their own cousins after all. He glanced over at the Gryffindor table. Harry had apparently fallen in with the latest Weasley. Could have been worse. At least Harry would have someone who could fill him in on how the magical world worked, and the Weasleys, although dirt-poor, were impeccably Light. No, there's be no competition from that quarter, too many Weasleys demanding attention but Molly might supply some much needed maternal influence - heaven knew the boy needed fattening up, although he looked rather better than he had last time Snape had seen him. Wonderful what a little magical coercion could do.

That damn hat had taken its time over him, and he wondered if anyone else had seen Harry's lips moving. "Not Slytherin, not Slytherin," indeed. In a way, it was a pity the boy couldn't have come in, but the first thing a Slytherin learned was to distrust other people's motives - which was the last thing he wanted Harry to learn, at least for the time being. Nor did he want the boy to wonder at his treatment of Malfoy, he'd have to be careful in class. No, better by far to have Harry think of him as a totally disinterested friend and a stern but fair disciplinarian. Pity - there were some promising weak links in the Gryffindors - Frank Longbottom's kid was an obvious chip off the old block and that bushy-haired girl looked easy to enrage, the very stupid and the very bright - his two favourites.

The headmaster got to his feet for his annual speech, which reminded Snape, he had a nasty suspicion that Dumbledore was up to something. You couldn't legementise Dumbledore and he wasn't fool enough to try, but had there been a hint of triumph when he had reported back to the school? The giant's dog had really been unwell, Hagrid couldn't have feigned that noisy concern, but Dumbledore wasn't above capitalising on it. Snape thought he'd done a pretty good impression of a man surprised into compassion and he was no more readable to others than Dumbledore, but even so....

Down in the hall, he saw Harry wince and clutch his forehead. He'd have to remember to ask him about that, he doubted anyone had ever noticed that sort of thing before. _Oh Merlin,_ next they'd be having that cursed school song. He took another healthy swig and firmly turned his attention to Filius Flitwick, who underneath his affectations did at least have something of a brain, which was more that could be said for Quirrell.

* * *

This was all turning out much more complicated than he had anticipated. It was one thing to decide to go easy on the Lions and the Snakes for the sake of his plans for Harry, but he had soon realised that it would also require going easy on the First Year Badgers and Ravens. What ever happened, he did not want Harry wondering why he was getting nice Snape and all the rest of his year cohort were getting the usual Evil Bat of the Dungeon.

For the first time since he had taken up his post, Severus Snape was forced to revise his opening speech to his potions class and it felt deeply, deeply odd.

"Those of you who have brothers or sisters already at this school have no doubt heard that I am the meanest, rudest, cruellest teacher to ever walk the earth." And true to form the little bastards had squirmed and paled. "This is not true. What I am is a teacher who insists that you try. If you do your best you have nothing to fear from me." _Mores the pity. _"Slacking off and carelessness will not be permitted. You would not, I hope, act the fool in a kitchen where hot food was being produced, not in an apothecaries were dangerous drugs were formulated, so don't do it here. Some of the compounds we will be making are explosive or inflammable and anyone who spills something on themselves will regret it - and not only because of the extra leg, green hair, constant vomiting or inability to breathe which may result. No one has died in one of my classes for ..... oh several years, and I do not intend for one of you to break my record."

It wasn't as sonorous as his usual introduction but it seemed to have worked, at least on Harry who looked impressed but not horrified. Now all he had to do was reduce the chances of something or rather someone making him lose his temper. "Miss Granger, you will work with Mr Longbottom. It will be your job to make sure he is following instructions and no, Mr Longbottom, I am not picking on you - I merely remember the time your father redwort instead of wrackwort and nearly blew his own hands off. Mr Malfoy you will work with Mr Goyle in the same capacity. And that does not mean either of you can leave the other to do all the boring and messy parts of the procedure. I do not expect most of you to grasp the subtle art and science which is potions brewing...."

He launched into his usual speech with heartfelt gratitude. He even managed to keep his temper for the entire lesson, largely it must be admitted by staying away from the Longbottom boy and the only partially literate Goyle. Harry had kept Weasley in reasonable bounds and a few glares had done the same for the feistier Gryffs and Snakes. Bulstrode was still watchful but, judging by her results, was obviously not a complete fool and she seemed to have teamed up with Nott and Zabini, which was interesting and would bear keeping an eye on.

He inspected their cauldrons at the end of the lesson and at least found nothing to excite his wrath. Granger and Longbottom had produced something which was very nearly perfect, which was to be expected since it was almost entirely a muggle salve which required mere attention to instructions for success. He nodded impassively and watched her face fall - no doubt used to being the teacher's pet. Harry and Weasley's wasn't bad, a little too green but that was probably down to too much stalk and not enough leaf. He told them so and watched as Harry wrote that down, nudging a petrified Weasley, who had obviously heard all the stories from his brothers, to do likewise. But apart from those two and Bulstrode's (too oily, need to be more careful with the measuring) they were the usual dunderheaded messes, nothing he hadn't seen before and nothing actively toxic. He gave them all homework and watched them scamper off.

He sighed with relief - third year Huffs and Ravens next. He was going to eat them alive.

* * *

When Saturday came, he thought long and hard about where to meet with Harry. Eventually, he decided it would have to be his private chambers. Normally, he would not have dreamt of having a student in there with him, it was his sanctuary from the little beasts, and any interviews with his house were conducted in his ante-room.

Three o'clock was the appointment, which, now he came to think of it, was a really stupid time of day. Too late for lunch and too early for an evening meal - judging by the way the boy had ploughed into his lunch, he could hardly be hungry again and meals were so useful for filling in embarrassing silences and gave one something to do with one's hands. Eventually, he decided to have some lemonade and cakes, surely there wasn't a boy in the kingdom who couldn't find room for cake? But nothing too fancy or messy. Wouldn't do to mortify the boy if anything got spilled.

Harry was a couple of minutes early, which Snape entirely approved of. He was wearing the jeans Snape had bought for him and the dragon T-shirt, and was no more than appropriately nervous. They exchanged greetings and Snape led him into his sitting room. It was a room he was, despite his determination not to become too comfortable anywhere, rather fond of. Lots of pale green fabrics and dark wood and everything arranged to his exact specification.

With Harry perched on a sofa, with a side table containing his glass and plate, Snape ventured a few questions. It all felt very awkward. He'd always loathed prying adults as a child, and had always vowed he wouldn't ask the same sort of questions when he too was fully grown, but it was so difficult not to.

"Are you settling in all right, Harry?" Luckily, the boy was no better at social interaction than he was himself, and didn't seem to notice how stilted the conversation was turning out. Between mouthfuls, he regaled Snape with his first week as a wizard. He was obviously a friendly boy and had soon found a peer group that seemed to suit. He had also been to see Hagrid and been charmed by the giant, if not by his rock cakes.

"They're not a patch on these - can I have another one?"

"You may."

"Anyway, he said he was supposed to have been the one who picked me up but Fang wasn't well. I'm glad it was you - I think Hagrid might have stuck out a bit in muggle London and we wouldn't have been able to go and have that great meal. Anyway, he said he had meant to buy me a birthday present - did you know he knew me when I was a baby? - and he's given me an owl, all of my very own. I don't know what I'm going to call her but she's beautiful. Wasn't that nice of him? I think wizards and witches are much nicer than muggles - don't you?"

Well, that was once misconception he'd have to nip in the bud immediately. "I'm afraid you'll find that witches and wizards are just like muggles in that respect. Some very nice, some very nasty indeed and most somewhere in the middle." Harry looked unconvinced. "What about your muggle teacher, er.... Mrs Whitehead? She was nice wasn't she?" Harry nodded. "And there are wizards like the Dark Lord and his followers who are not."

Harry looked crestfallen and, before he knew what he was about, Snape found he needed to take that look off the boy's face. "I am very glad that you have found yourself some congenial company," he said. "And you are safer here in Hogwarts than you have ever been in your life, but you must never forget that there are people, magical people, who do not wish you well. Be happy, but be on your guard. And always remember that if you are at all worried, or unhappy, you can always come and talk to me. Now, how did your Aunt and Uncle behave to you after I left"

Harry grinned, and Snape was heartened to see a spark of malice in that smile. "I think Uncle Vernon started to say something nasty about my Mum and Dad, but he ended up telling Dudley that he'd been fiddling his income tax and that Aunt Petunia fancied the milkman. I don't know who was the most upset."


	6. Chapter 6

Harry looked down. He bit his lip. "Um.. that was funny. But a bit later, Aunt Petunia tried to say something nasty and it came out different. She said she wished she'd married someone called Wally Something and had his kid instead. Uncle Vernon went ballistic. Aunt Petunia was trying to say she didn't mean it and didn't even know the man but Uncle Vernon..." Harry blew out his cheeks. "He was yelling and waving his arms around. He went to school with the other man, Wally, and they were enemies and they hated each other and how Wally was a snot-nosed..." He looked down and then whispered, "Bastard." Harry was twisting his fingers together. "I'm a worried because he said this Wally man's daughter was now working at Grunnings - that's his factory - and he was going to make sure her life was miserable and then sack her without a reference and then tell everyone she was a thief and a... a... slut." He looked up at Snape, his eyes huge. "Do you think I ought to have warned her? I wasn't allowed out of the house and I don't know her address or anything but someone ought to tell her."

"And you don't know this Wally person's name?"

"No. I've tried really hard to remember but I can't." Then with utter trust. "Can't you do something? You're really clever and magic and stuff."

Now what was the best reaction? His immediate thought was to refuse. He had no interest in the woman and 'doing something' would be time consuming and doubtless irritating. On the other hand, Harry was coming to regard him with something approaching veneration and that was definitely to be encouraged. "I might be able to do something," he said slowly, his reluctance only partly feigned.

"Oh please, Professor. Please!"

"Why does it matter so much?" He was genuinely curious.

"It's just so stupid and mean. Fancy hating someone because of something that happened when you were at school."

"It might have been lots of things. This Wally person might have done lots of horrible things to your uncle."

Luckily, Harry didn't seem to have heard the sharpness in his voice. "But Uncle Vernon's _old_. Getting angry because of things that happened ages ago is stupid. He could have forgotten about it, if he'd wanted to. He could have decided to be nicer than Wally to prove he's a better person but instead he's going to hurt the man's daughter and she hasn't done anything. I think that makes him as nasty as the Wally man." He heaved a big sigh. "I don't think Uncle Vernon is much of a grown-up. He's always having tantrums like a big baby."

There was a silence, filled with Harry gulping lemonade. Eventually, Snape tried again. "I know your cousin does not treat you well. Wouldn't you like to get your own back?"

Harry considered. "Well, yes. But I don't think of him when he's not there! That's just filling your head up with nastiness. And when we're grown up I won't ever have to see him again, so I can ignore him - and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, for ever and ever." The thought seemed to cheer him and he took a big bite out of his éclair. "So can you do something?"

Snape took a deep breath. "If you let me look at your memories, I should be able to find out the man's name and then we can try to find his daughter."

Harry gave a little wiggle of excitement. "You can look at my memories? Cool! How does it work?"

So he ended up having to legimentalise the boy. Whether Harry knew what he was doing or not, he obviously tried to help for the necessary memory was at the top of his mind. Petunia, pale and rather frightened. Dursley red-faced and indeed remarkably like a moustachioed baby yelling with rage and the name Walter Pearson right in front where he could not help but find it; accompanied by the suggestion that they use the telephone and ask to speak to Miss Pearson at Grunnings, so they could warn her. There was a muggle telephone in Hogsmeade, he could pop out during the week. He toyed with the idea of telling Harry he had done so and not bothering, but quickly realised that Dursley was not above boasting and resigned himself to a trip to the village on Monday.

Hugely relieved, Harry was inclined to become garrulous and silly, so Snape reined him in with questions about his school work. Although Harry admitted to finding the work difficult, he was obviously fascinated and excited. "And we went up the Astronomy tower in the middle of the night. Neville was so sleepy he kept saying it was Nidnight! I was really tired the next day!"

Snape sighed. He had a lot of respect for Minerva McGonigall, but this was ridiculous. "There is a trick to that Harry. You must go to bed as soon as you can after your tea. Don't get undressed, just take your shoes off and wrap yourself in a blanket. Do your best to sleep. Ask one of the prefects to wake you up in time for your lesson. And I dare say if you ask your Housemistress, she might be able to arrange for some hot chocolate for you before you go."

Harry was looking dubious. "I don't think I will be able to sleep that early."

"You'll be surprised," said Snape, dryly. "Don't leave it too late. You must go straight after dinner, you need several hours of nap for it do any good. Will you try it?"

Harry nodded. "Oh yes, we're having flying next week. I don't want to be too tired for that. I can tell Neville too, he was really sleepy next day and I don't think he's looking forward to the flying."

"And you are?"

"Oh yes - or rather - it's just that." Then passionately. "I don't want to make an idiot of myself in front of Malfoy. He's always saying things, boasting about how good he is at flying and he'll laugh!"

Oh dear, how drearily familiar all this was. How passionately the young cared for the opinion of those they despised. He knew that nothing he said would make a difference, so he merely said something soothing about getting a good night's sleep and that he was sure Harry would be fine. Harry looked dubious but did not protest, so Snape changed the subject. "I saw your head was hurting during the welcome feast - does it often do that?"

Harry looked startled. "No, that was the first time that's ever happened. It was like my scar was on fire. It's never done that before."

"Has it happened again?" Now that really was interesting.

"Once or twice," said with obvious reluctance. Not used to concern from grown-ups, probably wondering whether he was in trouble.

"Well, it might be nothing. It's a magical scar and there is a lot of magic about in this castle. But, Harry, will you promise to tell me if it happens again? There are lots of things we can do to stop things hurting. Just because your horrible Aunt and Uncle didn't care, doesn't mean nobody cares now."

Harry nodded but Snape suspected he would have to nerve himself up to saying similar things a lot in the future before the boy actually believed him. He watched as Harry ate his way through a pile of éclairs, chattering happily about his life until the cakes were gone and Harry obviously began to worry he'd outstayed his welcome.

"I hope you will come back and have tea next Saturday? I can tell you what happened about Miss Pearson," he said as Harry stumbled his way through his thanks and apologies.

"Yes please. Um, Professor?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"Thank you for having me and for looking after the lady. I know you said wizards aren't always nice. But. Well. I think you're nice. Nicer than Mrs Whitehead because she tried to help and made things worse but you help and things are better." Then he flushed bright red and bolted.

Snape tidied away the debris and got out a huge pile of marking, trying not to think about Harry's artless contempt for his uncle. His own sentiments about James Potter were in no way comparable. No way at all.

Were they?


	7. Chapter 7

By rights he shouldn't have been anywhere near the Quidditch Pitch. He had double Fourth Year Badgers and Ravens in 40 minutes and he hadn't sorted out the ingredients or finished marking the last two or three incoherent scrawls masquerading as essays. Nevertheless, next day found him sitting at a distance, part curious and part seeking further ammunition for a little avuncular commiseration during his next meeting with Po…. Harry.

He settled down on a handy bench and took out his omnioculars. Well, that was interesting. The broom practically leapt into his hand and he clearly had it under pretty good control for a beginner but…

_Bloody Hell_ what did the little idiot think he was doing? Snape watched in horror as, after a brief argument with Malfoy (who else?), an airborne Harry dashed off after a thrown object and simply plucked it out of the air, mere feet from a possibly fatal crash.

Snape was off the garden bench and racing across the green before he knew where he was. It was lucky he hadn't taken up a seat nearer the action, for Potter had time to get back to his cheering classmates before Snape arrived, and that gentleman had time to regain his temper. Never had the boy looked more like his father: never had Snape had to work so hard to stay calm.

Fortunately Minerva McGonagall and Hooch turned up and were totally wrapped up in Harry's unexpected skill, and he could pass his own arrival off as mere concern for a possible accident. The full facts he heard from Malfoy, the boy didn't even have the wit to keep his mouth shut, as all the snakes walked back to the castle together. Snape struggled to contain his rage, to try something so dangerous in full view of half his year-cohort! How the seven hells did Malfoy think he was going to get away with it? His father was a pompous racist, but at least he had the brains for a little subterfuge. Right, 500 lines should for a start and…

He was halfway through deciding on the precise punishment when a stray thought squelched the idea. The last thing he wanted was to force Draco underground, so long as he thought he was invulnerable, he was unlikely to hide his intentions or actions. And what could be seen could be prevented, or at least_….. Now there was a thought_….. He could warn Potter, keep him on his guard. Keep him safe and bind him tighter with cords of obligation, cementing his position as trust-worthy adult and mentor. Oh this might work out very well. Of course, that was another reason why he had to remember to telephone the Pearson woman but that was a small price to pay.

By next Saturday, when Potter came round, he had his strategy carefully worked out. Before the lemonade and cakes, Snape sat him down and drew his own chair up carefully, so that they were knee to knee. Huge green eyes looked up at him and the boy smiled trustingly.

"Harry," he said. "I need to have a serious talk with you about what I saw on the Quidditch pitch last week."

"Oh wasn't it great? Did you see me? I was flying and I'm good at it and I'm going to be in the Griffindor Team – they don't usually let…."

"Harry!" He rapped the boy sharply but not painfully on the knee. "I want you to listen to me. This is important."

"But…"

"Harry!" He waited until he had the boy's complete attention. "Yes, I saw you flying and it was most impressive. However…" He raised a hand to forestall any interruption. "It was also unbelievably foolish and dangerous." Harry began to look mulish. "You had never been on a broomstick before, am I right?" Nothing. "Am I right?" A sullen nod. "You had no way of knowing that you could control the broom that well before you tried it. You could have been seriously hurt or even killed."

"But I wasn't!"

"But you might have been, because you didn't think!" He rapped his knuckles, very gently, on the boy's forehead.

"Everybody else thinks it was great!"

"And it was, you are obviously an excellent flyer. But you didn't know that when you flew off after Longbottom's toy. Look what happened to him! For all you know, the same could have happened to you – which would have hurt you and upset your friends."

Harry was watching him now, his head on one side, his eyes suddenly intense. "Including you?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Would you have been upset?"

"Of course, I would," he replied, without thinking and then had to drag his attention back to the conversation. "Now – I warned you about Draco, didn't I? You know he was just trying to make trouble for you."

"I thought he was just being mean to Neville, like he always is."

"I have no doubt that that was part of it. But a large part would have been trying to make trouble for you – whether that was by getting you injured or by getting you into trouble with your teacher. You have to be careful of him – try not to rise to his bait." He saw the look of puzzlement and backtracked. "Try not to let him make you angry, angry people don't think and people who don't think make mistakes. Next time he makes you angry ask yourself, 'what is he trying to get me to do?' then don't do it. If you do what he wants – he wins."

"But people will think I'm just a cowardy-custard."

Snape blinked and sat back in his chair, winded by the sudden reminder of the taunts of his childhood. Did children still use that old insult? He pulled himself together. "Not if you point out you know what he's doing. Tell him you know he's just trying to get you worked up so you'll do what he wants. There's no reason why you shouldn't accept challenges from him – but make sure you take them calmly. You choose the battles, you choose the ground, you chose the fight." He punctuated each point with a tap on the knee. "Great generals, great fighters, great wizards, don't win by being provoked into behaving like children."

Harry was looking thoughtful, so Snape ordered up the refreshments and they both ate and drank in silence.

"So," said Harry, eventually. "What you're saying is," he spoke slowly and was obviously picking his words carefully. "When Malfoy acts like that, he's trying to wind me up and get me into trouble."

"Yes, and…" Snape prompted.

"And…. I shouldn't let him because …. because that way he can trick me into doing stupid things. "

"Exactly, well thought out, Harry." At last! Better keep it general though. "Of course, the same thing applies to real life. Dashing off and doing the first thing that occurs to you is hardly ever the right thing to do, but if you start by watching out for Draco, we can work on other things another day."

Harry added another éclair to the two he had already eaten, where the hell did adolescent boys put all that food?

"So, do you have any questions for me about your school work?" Now he'd got his own agenda out of the way he might as well see if the boy had anything he needed to discuss.

"No, but did you ring the lady about Uncle Vernon?"

"Yes, I did." And what a palaver that had been. It had taken 15 minutes and three galleons wasted in the public telephone in Hogsmeade to persuade Miss Pearson of his good faith, an effort that left him longing for a way to cast _convictio_ down the telephone. In the end, as he told Harry, the only thing he could do was suggest that the woman consult her own father for the history of the ill-feeling between himself and Vernon Dudley, and for his assessment of whether he thought Mr Dursley capable of such actions.

"I bet he says Uncle Vernon was always horrible," said Harry, thickly through his fourth éclair.

"Well, if course he will say that if he bullied your uncle at school, even if it isn't true."

"Doesn't matter if it's true or not," said Harry, swallowing an enormous mouthful. "We just want her to get away before Uncle Vernon hurts her. Doesn't matter what happened all those years ago."

Which, reflected Snape as he showed a happily cake-stuffed Harry out of his quarters half an hour later, was a surprisingly Slytherin conclusion.


	8. Chapter 8

He might have known the little brute wouldn't take any notice. Snape sat at breakfast, scowling at his bacon and eggs and watched as Malfoy taunted Potter and Weasley into something or other; although, to be fair, it looked as though Weasley was the main instigator. He considered intervening but decided against it. It wouldn't do to look as though he was dogging the boy's footsteps and he could always sympathise glutinously when Potter got into trouble. The sort of physical peril possible outside the castle was simply impossible within.

Besides, there were interesting developments within his House he had to look to. Wickham of the Third Year and Stamper and Pike of the Fourth were all showing unmistakeable signs of distaste with the sort of anti-muggle rhetoric which was common in the House. It didn't happen in his presence since every Snake was well aware of the school rules against it, even if they believed he enforced them only because he had to.

Pike was not a surprise since she was one of the most intelligent students of her year, a quiet, watchful girl who hid a fierce ambition beneath a rather plain, stolid exterior. He had been expecting her to rebel since her First Year. Stamper was rather more of a shock, his mother was an Avery, and they were practically synonymous with Dark. However, he was obviously besotted with one of Slytherin's rare muggle-borns and had apparently been doing some thinking over the holidays. Wickham however, came completely out of the blue – the only person he had ever met who had been brought to an understanding of the racism of the Dark merely by music. True, he was an artistic boy, played the cello and not merely because it was considered an aristocratic sort of hobby, but who would have thought that a clarinet concerto would bring him to his senses? It seemed that the inherent inferiority of muggles was difficult for a musical child to believe in when faced with Mozart. It had been both exciting and curiously pathetic to see the boy in the library desperately trying and failing to prove that the composer was a wizard.

It was now up to Snape to make sure that these realisations were fostered and protected. Pike would be best integrated with the other bright rebels, there was a group of Fourth and Fifth Years who were preparing to stand up for their own views against their parents. Not that they were foolish enough to do so directly – they were Slytherins after all – but they were quietly making plans to slide out of whatever futures their parents had in mind.

Stamper needed to be nudged closer to the muggle-borns. Haskins was bright enough to understand if he were asked to befriend him; it would not do at all if Stamper's infatuation came to an unhappy end, it might just tip him back amongst the racists. No, he needed friends who would reinforce his new insights and Haskins was a bright, sporty youth who could lead him into a more suitable group to spend his time with.

As for Pike, more Mozart obviously. Filius had some muggle records he knew, and Snape knew where he could find more of the cumbersome records which were all the machines in the castle could manage. Not perhaps Beethoven just yet, however the more muggle music Pike heard, the less he would be able to dismiss what he had learned. Perhaps he ought to suggest that Filius start a music appreciation club? There might be other students who would come over, or even some who needed their convictions bolstering. There weren't many overtly musical students, but even one or two would be a gain. And then there was great muggle art and literature – he was going to have to think about this carefully.

His house was getting noisy, so he sent a stern look in their direction and they quietened down. They ought to know better than to make such a racket at breakfast. He watched as Harry and the Weasley boy ran out of the Hall and wondered if it were time yet to begin taking advantage of his own relationship with Potter. He pondered for a moment, staring into the depths of his coffee cup and then decided. No, not yet. It would be better if that relationship were more public and preferably if it were made public by the boy. After all, "Do not underestimate Albus Dumbledore" ought to be tattooed on the soul on every spy of both sides. Even if the said spies all hoped they were permanently out of a job.

He snorted to himself. Chance would be a fine thing.

…..

After a few days it became obvious that, whatever Malfoy had cooked up, had not worked as he had planned, since Potter and Weasley continued unmolested, although they did look unnecessarily tired the next day. At their next Saturday meeting, Snape was mildly annoyed that he had to deny the boy's assumption that it was he, Snape, who had bought him the expensive broom he was currently using. Damn it all, he ought to have thought of that.

Well at least his words about not being taunted into action had had some effect. "Malfoy was trying to get me into a fight about my new broom, "said Harry. "But I managed to make him look like an idiot instead. I told Professor Flitwick that it was all due to Malfoy that I got it in the first place – you should have seen his face – I thought he was going to have a fit!"

Snape gritted his teeth and applied a little positive reinforcement, offering him another cake and congratulating him on his restraint. Sometimes it was really difficult to remember why he was doing this. They might have run out of conversation had Potter not revealed he was having trouble with one of his classes, having managed to misunderstand something Minerva McGonagall had said. He slipped thankfully into teaching mode, and straightened the boy out.

"You know, you could have asked Professor McGonagall if you were uncertain," he said after Potter had repeated back enough of his explanation to prove that he had finally understood.

Potter looked at his knees and pleated a loose fold of denim between his fingers. "I don't like to," he muttered eventually. "I don't know how much I am supposed to know already. "

"You have been raised by muggles, Harry. No one, least of all your teachers, expects you to know anything as yet."

"Hermione does."

It was, Snape supposed, unfortunate that the only other muggle-raised child in Potter's house was the over-achieving Granger. "Granger is something of an exception to most rules – what about." What was that pasty Hufflepuff called? "Ffinch-fletchley. I'll wager he knows as little as you do, and from what I have seen, he lacks your capacity for concentration. " Here it came – thank heavens it was true. "I am very pleased with the effort you put into your potion brewing."

Harry smiled shyly. "I'm glad. I've been trying to follow the recipes…er…. instructions carefully. It is a bit like cooking, isn't it?"

"A little, yes."

"Well, I've been cooking since I was about 8, so I ought to be able to do it. Oh, I've been meaning to ask, why does it make a difference whether you stir clockwise or anti-clockwise."

"That is a bit difficult to explain at the moment. We will look at that in more detail in the Second Year; suffice it to say that the magic you are adding to the liquid can tell the difference and reacts accordingly."

It was a pity that Potter as yet showed no sign of possessing the true Potion Master's flair. Of all that year, he suspected that only Granger had the intelligence and she was too wedded to her books to allow intuition its necessary freedom. He looked down at the boy eating his way through his third apple turnover and found himself regretting that they didn't have potions in common. It would make conversation so much easier.

Luckily, Potter didn't seem to realise how stilted their conversations were and continued to turn up every Saturday. As they days got colder, Snape substituted hot chocolate for the lemonade, and continued his efforts to ingratiate himself. One week he found out that Potter didn't have a dictionary, so he supplied one. The next week he taught him a spell to secure his spectacles on his nose during Quidditch.

Moreover, news of the shopping trip to Diagon Alley had leaked out. He made sure most of his House thought he had been ordered to go by the Headmaster. However, he did little to contradict the idea amongst the staff that he was becoming reluctantly fond of the boy. He scowled when anyone commented on the fact, then muttered about scruffy children and disgraceful relatives and stomped off. If people thought he was looking out for the boy because he had been friends with the boy's mother, then Snape was not going to be the one to disabuse them.

After all, it was easy to believe. You only had to look at his eyes.


	9. Chapter 9

Ten thousand flaming devils, he'd blown it!

After all that careful thought, all those awkward afternoons with cake and conversation and he'd ruined everything with one outburst of acid fury. There were excuses – he'd raced back at Minerva's call, still bleeding from that damned hell hound on guard, only to find Potter and his little pals standing shakily but triumphant over the prone and malodorous figure of a full-grown mountain troll. No one could remain calm in the face of that! But the fact remained, he'd blown it – utterly and forever.

He dropped his head in his hands and groaned. His leg was still throbbing, despite the best pain potion in his repertoire, something to do with Cerberus saliva, he'd have to do more research.

Tomorrow, he'd do it tomorrow.

How could he have been so stupid? Being unable to stop himself was no excuse. He was a spy for heaven's sake. His life depended on self-control and one little brat, with huge green eyes in a pale face, had blasted through his detachment like a Killing Curse.

Damn the little bastard, what had Potter been thinking? It was a troll! He might have been killed! Lily's sacrifice all for nothing. A magical little life snuffed out before it had chance to get going. Well, he'd certainly wiped the smile of his face, sent him off with his lower lip trembling and his little lion friends trembling after him. Which, he reminded himself angrily, was not the way things were supposed to be. He was supposed to be the support, the safe haven, not just another adult hurting his feelings.

Why couldn't the stupid boy use his brains for a change?

His leg gave another angry twinge and he levered himself to his feet. Just because he'd make a mess of one of his best ever plans, was no excuse for neglecting his health. Now, where the hell was his copy of _Beast Bites and Wounds?_

Stupid boy, stupid, stupid boy.

The next morning was Saturday, but he knew better than to expect Potter to turn up after being metaphorically flayed to the bone the previous night. Which was why he almost didn't hear the knock at his door. Even when it came again, it was several seconds before Snape could bring himself to go and answer it.

He was stunned into silence by the sight of Harry on his doorstep. "Hello, Professor," he said, brightly. "I'm not too early am I?"

Snape stood aside wordlessly as Harry strode in confidently and took up his usual place on the sofa. "Do you mind if we don't have any cake today? I'm feeling a bit sick after all the sweets yesterday."

Snape shook his head.

"Um," said Harry. "Um... I didn't... I mean I did... but." He was struggling for words but he was obviously not at all afraid. "I did want to find you, yesterday, before we went to get Hermione, but there wasn't time. She'd been in the girl's loo crying since before tea, she didn't know about the troll, so we had to go get her and there was no sign of you, or any of the teachers, so we had to go on our own. We just thought we'd warn her and then run away – honest."

"Harry," said Snape eventually, into the silence. "Why are you here?"

Harry looked startled. "It's Saturday, I always come on Saturday."

"But I shouted at you, I made you... " _shut up you fool_, he though, his brain finally managing to catch up with his mouth. No point in reminding the boy he'd made him cry.

Harry sat back, obviously relieved. "Oh Hermione explained that."

"She did?"

"Yeah, she said that's what Da... grown-ups do when they're worried. She said her parents yelled at her like that when she was little and ran out into the road and nearly got run over. You know, because they were scared for her." He looked down and then back up again, a sunny smile on his face. "I'd never had anybody be scared for me so I didn't understand it at first, but she's really good at explaining things."

"I'm glad to hear it." Saved, his plan was saved – and it was all down to the naivete of small children and Griffindors in particular. "Very well, no cakes, but would you like a glass of apple juice? I find it less sickly sweet than pumpkin when my stomach is a little upset.

"Yes, please." And they were off again, as though nothing had happened. He could scarcely believe his luck, it felt like a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He had not realised he'd invested quite so much in this plan but it was enormously gratifying to find that his efforts had not been in vain. Really very gratifying indeed.

The conversation turned to the week's homework and it was curiously heartening to hear the boy ask a question about the use of stinging nettles in skin balms. "Yes, it is odd, " he heard himself saying. "Nettles belong to a class of plants whose properties in magical use are almost diametrically opposite what one might expect from – one moment, I have a beginners book of plant types and their use in potions, you can borrow it if you like."

It had been the first potions book he had bought with his own money, all those years ago. Money earned, now he thought of it, by doing Lucius Malfoy's prep for him. It was right on the top shelf, and he had to wheel the library steps over to reach. As he leaned over to the awkward corner over the door, he caught his trouser leg on the side of a step and heard it tear. Never mind, he'd cast _reparo_ when he got down.

Unfortunately, as he climbed down, book in hand, Harry saw his leg, the bite mark outlined in blood against the white of the bandage, still oozing slightly. His researches had failed to reveal any known cure for Cerberus saliva but time and rigorous cleanliness.

"Oh wow, Professor," said Harry. "Did Fluffy bite you?"


End file.
